


The Hangover

by Peculeah



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hangover, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, but that's basically what it is, not sure if hurt/comfort counts with hangovers, yes i was hungover when i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 08:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peculeah/pseuds/Peculeah
Summary: Aziraphale decides that he and Crowley simply must experience a hangover if they were going to continue indulging in alcohol.-“A blessed hangover, angel.” Aziraphale lifted his head just enough to see Crowley curled up at the end of his bed; he was wrapped almost entirely in the angel's tartan blanket, aside from where his pale face was poking out. The demon's yellow eyes were stained red around the edges and his face was like thunder. Aziraphale’s brain started to swim leisurely around his skull and he was forced to drop his head back down onto his pillow with a groan.“This is horrendous.”“You’re the one who suggested that we needed to ‘appreciate human’s relationship with alcohol’ or some shit.” Crowley spat out his words in a twisted and cruel impression of Aziraphale fueled by nausea and rage.





	The Hangover

It was late morning; light spilled through a gap in the slightly open curtains of Aziraphale's flat, falling onto the face of a sleeping angel. The soft, yellow glow fluttered gently over his closed eyes and long eyelashes, caressing the ethereal visage like a gentle finger across the cheek of a lover.

The angel screwed up his face at the rude intrusion and attempted to unstick his eyelids. The soft fingertips of light began stabbing him painfully in the retina.

“What hell is this?”

“A blessed hangover, angel.” Aziraphale lifted his head up just enough to see Crowley curled up at the end of his bed; he was wrapped almost entirely in the angel's tartan blanket, aside from where his pale face was poking out. The demon's yellow eyes were stained red around the edges and his face was like thunder. Aziraphale’s brain started to swim leisurely around his skull and he was forced to drop his head back down onto his pillow with a groan.

“This is horrendous.”

“You’re the one who suggested that we needed to ‘appreciate human’s relationship with alcohol’ or some shit.” Crowley spat out his words in a twisted and cruel impression of Aziraphale fueled by nausea and rage.

The waves of drunken conversation came flooding back to Aziraphale in the same, horror-filled way you might remember yourself making plans to see your elderly, racist relatives after drinking five gin and tonics. He had decided that he had been taking advantage of his ethereal abilities, often indulging in human luxuries but never accepting the consequences to his human body. If the two of them were to continue indulging in alcohol they must understand the effect it had on normal bodies and suffer the dreaded 'hangover'. Plus he'd heard about hangovers causing pain and suffering, yet most humans still chose to endure them every weekend anyway. It was simply fascinating.

Less fascinating when experiencing it though, it would seem. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.” Crowley cried dramatically, causing the angel to wince at the noise and chuck a cushion at his head which Crowley completely ignored. “I think I finally understand why they were all drilling holes in their heads to get rid of hangovers during the 17th century.” The demon pressed his fingers against his temples to try and relieve some pressure.

“No, they did that because you told them it would release, and I quote, _their demons from within_.”

Crowley let out a sharp laugh and smiled fondly at the memory. “Oh yeah.”

Aziraphale forced himself to sit up, ignoring the nauseating swimming sensation in his head and stomach. He was pleased to note that he had taken his jacket off before climbing into bed, the aforementioned piece of clothing hanging neatly on the back of his desk chair. Aside from that and his shoes he was still completely dressed, somehow miraculously not choked by the tartan bow-tie that was still knotted around his neck; he removed it and placed it delicately onto his bedside table. His shirt was crumpled and had ridden up above his bellybutton with random buttons undone as though he had attempted to take it off without much luck. He had no recollection of getting into bed or even making his way up to his room. Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, Aziraphale took some small pleasure in the minuscule amount of pressure it relieved from his aching head. 

It was only the sound of Crowley moving that had Aziraphale remove his hands and squint at the demon at the end of his bed, watching as he shed the blanket from his torso and reached out for the sunglasses he'd thrown on the floor.

As Crowley emerged from the blanket Aziraphale noticed that the demon had removed at least his shirt if not all of his clothes (it was impossible to tell from the way the blanket was still covering him from the waist down) and the angel found himself suddenly feeling incredibly warm. Of course, it was much more likely that this was a result of the hangover and not the expanse of toned, demon body with a smattering of dark hair scattered across his chest... Definitely the hangover, and quite possibly Aziraphale was just simply still drunk.

"We could sober up now, angel. Get all of this nastiness out of our bodies." Crowley slipped his sunglasses back on but didn't seem to be any rush to dress any other part of his body. "It would stop the suffering."

"That would be rather against the spirit of this experiment, my dear." 

Crowley groaned and crawled up to Aziraphale's end of the bed, collapsing beside the angel as though the short journey had taken all of his efforts. Aziraphale probably wouldn't have been able to stop himself from watching him when he _wasn't_ tired and hungover, so he really didn't have a cat's chance in hell now. (Particularly as this phrase is completely incorrect; cats have more of a chance in hell than any other of God's creatures. In fact, they love it down there, they practically rule the place.)

The demon spread his arms out, taking up a huge amount of the moderately sized bed. Now that he had moved and the blanket had been left behind, Aziraphale noticed that he was, unfortunately, still wearing his trousers.

No, not unfortunately, very fortunately. _What a peculiar thought._ He dropped his face into his hands and let out a strange, strangled noise he's not sure he's ever made before. "How do humans do this so frequently?"

"Because they love pain. Masochists, the lot of them."

Aziraphale watched his bedmate as he draped the back of his hand over his forehead dramatically, noting how this action stretched the muscles down Crowley's arms and side. The alcohol had truly poisoned his brain, he couldn't think straight at all.

"I feel rather ill, my dear."

"If you throw up on me I will not hesitate to sic Adam on you." In juxtaposition to his actions, Crowley rolled onto his side closer to Aziraphale, his head almost resting on the angel's shoulder.

"Adam is a sweetheart, he wouldn't hurt me."

"Pepper, then."

"You wouldn't."

Crowley laughed and then winced as the motion shook his body. "Oh angel, this truly is hell on Earth, and I would know." The warmth from his body was radiating enough for Aziraphale to feel it against his skin. They were close enough for the angel to reach out and hold the demon, and the parts of him that were hurting wanted nothing more than the comfort of Crowley's touch. He sighed and closed his eyes, hoping for a small moment of respite from the poisonous thoughts floating through his mind.

There was silence for a while as both creatures lay perfectly still, eyes closed as the streams of light traveled across their faces and body with the progress of the day. For hours they were almost motionless, the only movement was the raising and lowering of their chests with steady breathing. Aziraphale focused on his own breathing, trying to slow it to match Crowley's but aware that the proximity was making it difficult. After some consideration, Aziraphale worked up the courage to turn his neck once more to watch Crowley. The demon was very open with the fact that he enjoyed his sleep and was undoubtedly sleeping through this nightmare. Aziraphale often found that sleep didn't come as easily to him. He struggled to switch his brain off long enough for sleep to take him, usually far too busy worrying about their various head offices finding out something that would ruin the life they had made for themselves on Earth.

In a moment of weakness that Aziraphale would blame entirely on the hangover, he reached out to Crowley. He couldn't help it really, not when the demon was sleeping so close to him, his mouth slightly agape and his forehead free of the worry-lines that often mapped the space above his eyebrows. Aziraphale lightly ran his thumb across his forehead and then down past the snake tattoo under Crowley's sideburn over his prominent cheekbone. Crowley's skin was soft and much hotter than usual, flushed with the remanence of alcohol. The angel continued to drag his fingers down Crowley's neck and across his chest, stopping himself when he reached the demon's abdomen. 

_"What are you doing, you old fool?"_ He muttered to himself. Immediately embarrassed by his lack of self-control, Aziraphale pulled his hand away, or at least he would have done if a soft hand hadn't wrapped around his wrist, effectively stopping him from withdrawing his hand. 

He forced his gaze back up to Crowley's face, noting with slight horror the pair of golden yellow eyes, clearly open and awake from behind Crowley's sunglasses. He had been caught.

"I-" The words stuck in his throat.

"I hope you weren't thinking of stopping, angel."

Aziraphale blinked twice, his hungover brain not quite registering the words. "Pardon?"

With a small, cautious smile that took over the usual confident smirk, Crowley placed Aziraphale's hand back onto his chest and held it there. "I was quite enjoying that, actually."

Aziraphale's face flushed bright red, something he could no longer blame on the alcohol. "I'm sorry if I overstepped."

"If I'd known all it took to get you all hot and bothered was a hangover I would have suggested it years ago." Crowley's signature grin was back and Aziraphale couldn't help but return it. "Although I do have a confession to make."

"What is it?"

"I sobered up a few hours ago. That hangover was absolute torture."

Aziraphale's face twisted with shock. "You've let me suffer on my _own_ -" He couldn't finish his sentence as he found his mouth was suddenly covered with Crowley's. The demon's mouth was hot and wet and oh-so-tempting, Aziraphale couldn't help but lean into the kiss, pressing their bodies together. Crowley ran his fingers through Aziraphale's hair, grasping onto handfuls of the blonde curls while slipping an uncannily long tongue into the angel's mouth, eliciting an unholy moan. He grazed his teeth against Aziraphale's bottom lip, biting and nipping as he felt the angel's fingernails cutting into his back where Aziraphale was gripping onto him.

It a swift movement, Crowley rolled over to pull Aziraphale on top of him. Suddenly, the angel turned green and pulled away. "What's wrong?" Crowley's face was flushed and his lips were swollen.

"Sorry my dear, but I rather think I might vomit."

"Don't. You. Dare."

"It's for the good of the experiment!"


End file.
